


Desire Arrives

by Rana Eros (ranalore)



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Community: springkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-28
Updated: 2007-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/pseuds/Rana%20Eros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It comes from where your longing comes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire Arrives

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Yami no Matsuei, Oriya/Hisoka: Prostitution - Hisoka's second time. Alphaed and betaed by Eliza, who is the secret of my success. Don't ever doubt it. Also betaed by the lovely Brigdh. Title and summary both from Rumi.

The second time Kurosaki Hisoka comes to the Ko Kaku Rou, it's during business hours and he walks through the front door. Oriya's not been told to expect him, hasn't heard a word from Muraki since that night, and for a moment he fears the Shinigami's come to tell him Muraki's dead.

Only for a moment, though; he doubts the Shinigami perform such services for the bereaved. Certainly not for him.

Kurosaki is dressed in a dark suit that makes him look both very young and dangerously sharp-edged. Oriya remembers the look of him with a sword in his hand. Remembers the way he handled that sword, as well, and approaches cautiously when Kurosaki dismisses the hostess, looking directly at the screen behind which Oriya watches his guests arrive.

"What brings you to my establishment, little brother?" Oriya says when he's close enough to murmur it intimately, close enough to watch Kurosaki tense with his proximity. Kurosaki doesn't step away, however, only meeting his gaze with unearthly eyes.

"Why do people usually come to your establishment, Mibu-san?"

"That depends on which appetite they wish to fill," Oriya answers smoothly, and smiles in the way he does for clients who have not come for the food. "Are you hungry, little brother?"

Kurosaki flushes a lovely rose in the low light, but doesn't hesitate. "That depends on what's on the menu."

His girls might find those eyes unnerving, but Oriya's willing to wager the chance at such a pretty youth will help several of them overcome it. "What do you have a taste for?"

Kurosaki, astonishingly, shifts closer, raising his chin in such a way that Oriya can't help noticing the long line of his throat, the creaminess of the skin bared by the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. "What do you, Mibu-san?"

Oriya raises his hand to that throat, to accept the invitation or call the bluff. Under his palm, he feels Kurosaki swallow, feels that graceful body strung taut, but still Kurosaki doesn't pull away. "Will you dine with me, little brother?"

"Yes, thank you, Mibu-san."

Oriya fully expects Kurosaki to lose his courage during the meal, and can't help taking advantage of what little time he believes he has. He insists on serving them both, brushing his fingertips over Kurosaki's hands as he lays things out. Kurosaki only watches him, still blushing faintly, but otherwise not reacting. Oriya pushes things further, holding up a piece of sashimi in his chopsticks as though he expects Kurosaki to eat it. Kurosaki leans forward, opens his mouth, and takes the bite, letting Oriya see him close his teeth on it before his lips close and he draws away again. It's Oriya's turn to watch as Kurosaki blinks once, slowly, long dark lashes over brilliant eyes, then chews and swallows.

When Kurosaki reciprocates, Oriya considers the possibility that his night has just been booked, and takes the bite. Caught between sweeping dinner aside to hurry things along, and drawing each course out as much as he can, Oriya defaults to his usual pace with an intriguing client. It's more time than Muraki ever gave him.

Kurosaki, who has been sipping his tea, sets the cup down with a sudden lack of grace and says sharply, "Mibu-san."

"Yes?"

"Am I keeping you from something, Mibu-san?"

Oriya lifts his cup of sake and smiles over its lip. "I never double-book, little brother."

"You seem distracted."

Oriya sets the sake back down untasted, shifts up onto his knees to lean across the food, closer to Kurosaki, one hand lightly touching the tatami beside Kurosaki's hip. "You do not believe yourself the cause of that distraction, little brother?"

Kurosaki raises his chin again, which brings their mouths closer together. "I know I'm not."

"You know wrong," Oriya whispers, closes the distance necessary for a kiss. It tastes, of course, of dinner and tea. Then Kurosaki opens his mouth, and it is soft and wet and hot, and underneath the taste of fish and rice and tea leaves, there is something that reminds Oriya of cherry blossoms.

It's not a human taste, but he wants more. Of course.

Kurosaki pushes him back, just enough to meet his eyes once more. "Are we finished eating then, Mibu-san?"

"Unless you're still hungry, little brother."

"No."

Oriya has to smile at that bluntness. "Then there are other appetites to feed."

In his room, Kurosaki draws him down into another kiss before he can begin undressing. He feels Kurosaki's hands at his obi, so he works his own hands between them to find the buttons on Kurosaki's jacket. Kurosaki grabs his wrists, pulls his hands down and breaks the kiss enough to say, "No."

Very well then, he'll leave the undressing to the client. Once Kurosaki releases his hands, he raises them to run his fingers through Kurosaki's hair. That seems acceptable, since he's not stopped again, and he enjoys the texture as he continues to enjoy Kurosaki's mouth.

At his waist he feels the obi drop away, feels Kurosaki open his yukata enough to slip both hands inside and press the palms to his stomach. Kurosaki's hands are warm, long-fingered, and he pushes himself into them. Kurosaki draws them up over his ribs, his chest, and Oriya hopes for a pause, but there is none, until Kurosaki is pushing the yukata off his shoulders. Oriya expects Kurosaki to tug at the sleeves as a hint, or pull Oriya's hands from his hair, but instead Kurosaki pulls his own hands away, and then Oriya hears the soft sounds, feels the faint shifts, of Kurosaki undressing.

So this is how it will go. His role is merely to respond. It's one he's taken on before, and if he wonders what's behind it, well.... That's something he's done before, as well.

Kurosaki pushes him toward the bed, and he goes, shrugging off his yukata when he sees Kurosaki take off the suit jacket, beginning to unbutton the shirt underneath. It's a plain white shirt, the sort worn by a salaryman. Oriya wonders if that's what Shinigami are, in the end. It seems a sad fate, but it doesn't surprise him. Why should the afterworld be any kinder than this one?

Kurosaki moves to stand over him once the shirt is off, and Oriya waits until Kurosaki's hands are on his shoulders before putting his own at Kurosaki's hips, where there is still a layer of cloth between his skin and Kurosaki's. He looks up at those wide, too-bright eyes and asks, "May I?"

Kurosaki's hands tighten on his shoulders, but the answer is calm enough. "Yes."

So the night goes. There is a tension to Kurosaki that has nothing to do with excitement, and Oriya does his best to soothe it, but Kurosaki only allows so much. It's wearing, little as they do, and Kurosaki is indeed beautiful, but Oriya cannot help but be relieved that his body reacts as the body of such a young man should. They spill into their intertwined hands, facing each other side by side on his bed. Kurosaki pulls away only a breath or two after, and when Oriya lifts a wet cloth from the basin on his bedside table, Kurosaki takes it to clean himself.

Oriya waits until Kurosaki tries to hand the cloth back to him to catch at Kurosaki's fingers. "Are you going to tell me what this was about, little brother?"

Kurosaki looks down at where their hands touch, and Oriya finds he misses the light of those eyes. "Is it usual for clients to tell you that, Mibu-san?"

"It's not usual for me to take clients."

Kurosaki looks up at that. "Then why did you accept my offer?"

Oriya smiles gently. "I'll give you an answer for an answer."

For a moment he thinks Kurosaki will refuse, all of that tension focusing until he thinks the air nearly thrums with it. Then it leaves as Kurosaki's eyes shift away from him, and a calm comes over that face that Oriya knows from experience no amount of sex will bring.

"Call it a favor for a friend." Kurosaki looks at him again, and he cannot account for the catch in his throat. "You understand those, Mibu-san."

"Yes," he manages, and Kurosaki doesn't press, merely tilting his head.

"So what was your reason?"

Oriya opens his mouth, but the words don't come. Even so, something like understanding passes over Kurosaki's face; he leans forward, and once more Oriya tastes that mouth. The flavor of cherry blossoms is very strong.

"Shall I--" Kurosaki begins as he pulls away, but Oriya puts his hand up to touch those soft lips, and Kurosaki falls silent.

"On the house," Oriya whispers, and does not offer his services for a future date, does not ask that Kurosaki return.

He knows better than to expect such things.

Kurosaki rises, and dresses, and looks at Oriya one last time before stepping out into the corridor. "You should know, Mibu-san, that Muraki is still alive. I would know if he were not, and I would tell you."

It's more than any other client has paid him, and he holds onto it as Kurosaki pushes aside the shoji screen, leaving him alone in his room.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [When They Hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/171105) by [Rana Eros (ranalore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/pseuds/Rana%20Eros)




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